


autumn in new york

by schweet_heart



Series: "Hey, Soldier" universe [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Bath Sex, Bathing Kink, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hey soldier, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sleepytime sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 14:56:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4670933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/pseuds/schweet_heart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-shot, set in the "Hey, Soldier" universe. Tony cleans Steve up after a particularly dirty battle - although perhaps "dirty" is the operative word. </p><p>Written for <a href="http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/7940.html?thread=15345156">this</a> kinkmeme prompt. Now with fabulous <a href="http://rae-simmons-of-doom.deviantart.com/art/Swampy-Sasquatch-Steve-570180896">fan-art</a>!</p>
            </blockquote>





	autumn in new york

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after [the very heart of it](http://archiveofourown.org/works/450288), but you don't really need to read that one to understand what's going on. Title comes from the Frank Sinatra song of the same name.
> 
> Special thank you to Rae Simmons for the awesome fan-art of Swampy Sasquatch Steve, which you can find [here](http://rae-simmons-of-doom.deviantart.com/art/Swampy-Sasquatch-Steve-570180896).

 

It's not the toughest mission they've ever been on, but it's certainly the dirtiest. And he means that literally. By the time they've beaten back the latest flavour of the month – an army of giant robot octopuses, octopi, whatever, it's a thing – all six of the Avengers are covered in dirt and slime from head to toe. Tony's been able to stay out of the worst of it (thank you, full-body armour with built-in flight capacity), but even he's not exactly shiny and smelling like roses as he lands next to Natasha with a squelch and looks her over.

 

“So,” he says. “I suppose a mud-wrestling contest would be out of the question?”

 

He's pretty sure she's too tired to tear him limb from limb. Ninety-nine percent sure. Well, maybe seventy-five percent. Anyway, Steve would probably stop her before she maimed him too badly.

 

“If you and Steve want to go ahead, be my guest,” she tells him, flicking a mud-slicked strand of red hair out of her face. “Personally, I've had enough of mud for one day.”

 

She has a point.

 

“You have a point,” Tony concedes. “Although I wouldn't be averse to taking a rain check. How about it, Cap?”

 

“Hmm?” Steve blinks at him. “Sorry, Iron Man, I didn't catch that.”

 

“Are you okay?” Looking at him more closely, Steve does seem a little unsteady on his feet. He had taken down one of the octopi alone, an impressive feat even for a super-soldier, but not before it had destroyed several city blocks – using him as a club. “You're not dying from internal bleeding and just forgot to tell us, are you?”

 

“Ha ha,” Steve says. He straightens up, but it looks like it takes effort. “I'm fine. Just tired.”

 

“So no mud-wrestling party, then.”

 

“What?”

 

“Never mind. You want a lift?”

 

“Yeah, a lift would be great, thanks.”

 

He moves like he's going to step onto Tony's foot and grab on, the way he usually does, but it's obvious to Tony that he doesn't have the energy to hang in there for the length of time it's going to take them to get back to the Tower.

 

“No you don't,” he says, and before Steve can argue he scoops him up bridal style. “The way our day's going you'll fall off halfway back and end up flat as a pancake in the middle of Manhattan.”

 

“I won't!” Steve protests. He shoves feebly at the armour, but Tony's already taking off.

 

“Stay still, Cap,” he warns. “Or I won't be responsible for the consequences.”

 

“You've been waiting to do this for years, haven't you?”

 

“What, sweep you off your feet and have my wicked way with you?” Tony grins inside the suit, and he knows Steve can hear it. “You know I have.”

 

“Ugh, no flirting on an open comm!” Clint's voice yells in his ear, and Tony outright laughs at his indignation.

 

“Shut up, Barton,” he calls back. “Now you know how we feel when you, Nat and Coulson start discussing who gets to put which knife in whose drawer, if you know what I mean.”

 

“What!?”

 

“It's fine,” Steve intervenes. He sounds amused, which Tony wouldn't have expected – although he supposes hearing a grown man's voice reach that pitch _was_ kind of funny, at least where there was no injury to the crotch involved. “He's kidding. We figured it out a while ago, Clint, it's not a problem – “

 

“We already knew you were totally depraved,” Tony says cheerfully. “We've decided to keep you around anyway.”

 

“That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me,” Clint deadpans.

 

“I'm fairly sure I can come up with something better,” Natasha cuts in, matter-of-factly, and the three men stop talking, fast. Nobody wants to play a game of sex chicken with Natasha Romanov; she plays dirty, and not in the good way. “Now if you boys have kindly finished swapping TMI tales, I have a few knives that need sharpening, if you know what I mean.”

 

Tony waits until they're closer to the Tower to open up a private comm channel to Steve.

 

“Do you think she meant what I think she meant?”

 

“I think she was just winding you up. But with Natasha, anything's possible.”

 

“Touché,” Tony says, and he's not sure whether to be impressed or terrified. “Remind me never to get on her bad side.”

 

“Tony, never get on Natasha's bad side.”

 

“You're not funny.”

 

+

 

They touch down at the Tower with something less than their usual grace, and it is immediately obvious to Tony that a) Steve is totally _covered_ in mud, what the hell and b) way too tired to function on his own, especially since he seems to be having trouble standing upright.

 

“JARVIS, get a bath running in my ensuite, would you please?” he asks, as the armour unfolds itself from his body and is neatly tucked away under the floor. “Lots of hot water. Very hot water. And bubblebath.”

 

“As you wish, sir.”

 

“Tony, I don't need – “ Steve begins, but Tony's already tugging him along by the hand, and the fact that Steve follows after him docilely in spite of his complaints tells Tony that he's feeling every one of those steel-reinforced office buildings he plowed through.

 

“Come on, Capsicle,” he says, leading the super-soldier into the penthouse bedroom and towards the bathroom door. “Lets get you out of those clothes.”

 

And, okay, so he's used that line a few times too many if Steve's snort is anything to go by, but this time he truly intended nothing by it. He catches Steve's raised eyebrow, and grins. “Yeah, yeah. Long day, early debriefing, I get it, but you're going to have to clean up before we go to bed because slob I may be but even I draw the line at sharing the sheets with [Steve the Swampy Sasquatch](http://rae-simmons-of-doom.deviantart.com/art/Swampy-Sasquatch-Steve-570180896). I swear, I'm only going to scrub you down, if that's all you want: your virtue is safe with me.”

 

Steve shoots him a scathing look, but finally starts stripping off his uniform and Tony resolutely looks away. He's perfectly capable of keeping his hands to himself, honestly, but there's no point in exposing himself to temptation.

 

Under the costume, Steve is just as filthy, which Tony finds out as soon as the Captain sinks into the bathwater. There's enough bubble bath that he can't see below the surface, more's the pity, but the accumulated sweat and dust gives a faint sheen to the skin of his chest as well as his face and hair, making him look as if he's been dipped in oil. Which is totally not helping with the whole hands-off-the-merchandise thing.

 

“All right,” he says briskly, picking up the extendable showerhead. “I'm going to take it from the top, okay? Close your eyes.”

 

Steve does so, leaning back against the edge of the tub and letting his head nod sideways with a quiet sigh. He looks exhausted, a sight which tugs at Tony's heretofore nonexistent heartstrings. He keeps forgetting how _young_ Captain America really is. They all do.

 

He turns on the shower and aims it at Steve's head. His hair goes several shades darker, but some of the top layer of grime washes off his face. Tony repeats the process a few times, until he's sure the hair is completely soaked, then turns off the shower and picks up the shampoo.

 

“Keep your eyes closed,” he warns.

  
Actually, lathering up Steve's hair is kind of absorbing work, and he focuses all of his attention solely on massaging the scalp, applying just the right amount of pressure so that the shampoo lathers up into a foam. Steve is pliant in his hands, the only signs that he hasn't totally fallen asleep the hands still gripping the side of the tub and the draw-string thread of tension in his neck and shoulders.

 

Tony leans in, deliberately gentling his strokes and making the massage more sensual. “Relax,” he murmurs. “I'm not going to let you drown.”

 

“I know that,” Steve replies testily, eyes still shut tight. “I'm not scared of drowning.”

 

“Are you sure?” Tony asks. “I mean, you did crash a plane into ice cold water and spend seventy years frozen to death under the surface. If anyone has the right to be scared of drowning, I'm pretty sure you do.”

 

Steve cracks open one eye, and Tony smiles brightly down at him, rubbing briskly at his scalp.

 

“You don't have to earn the right to be afraid of drowning,” he says, but it's a half-hearted objection. Tony just shrugs.

 

“Lean forward,” he instructs. “I need to rinse the back.”

 

With the long curve of Steve's neck exposed, Tony can see the hard ridge of his spine beneath the skin, and it's hard to resist kissing it. Instead, he brushes a thumb against the top vertebrae and is gratified to see Steve shiver.

 

“Relax,” he says again. He sluices water over Steve's head and watches it travel down the broad back, leaving tracks in the accumulated dirt. “You're filthy.”

 

Steve makes a sound that might have been agreement and rubs a hand over his face. It's trembling a little.

 

“Are you okay?” Tony asks. He picks up a loofa and starts scrubbing slowly at the parts of Steve's back and chest that he can reach, brushing across his shoulders, swirling the dirt into spirals. “You look wasted.”

 

“Just tired.”

 

“Getting used as a wrecking ball really takes it out of you, huh?”

 

“I did not,” Steve says, and Tony can _hear_ him glaring. “Get used as a wrecking ball.”

 

“Whatever analogy you use,” Tony says. “All I saw was you getting your ass handed to you. Several times over. You forget to eat your wheaties this morning or something, big guy?”

 

Steve snorts, and leans even further forward so that Tony can sponge his lower back. He dips the loofa into the water and squeezes it out over Steve's shoulder blades, then chases the trickle down the length of his spine, repeating the motion several times until he falls into a rhythm. “I don't know what happened,” Steve finally confesses. “It was too strong, too fast. Too something.”

 

“Mm.” Tony holds his tongue. The memory of Steve being battered by one of HYDRA's malformed misfits is not one he particularly relishes, even though he feels honour bound to needle him about it. They're lucky he wasn't broken to bits, really, lucky that the only injuries that wouldn't heal were to his pride. He pauses, then making his decision puts down the loofa and starts lathering up the soap with his bare hands. Steve doesn't comment, just glances back at him with those too-blue eyes of his as Tony works on removing all evidence of the previous day's engagement from his skin. There are some darker spots down his ribs that won't come off, and it isn't until Steve actually flinches under his touch that Tony realises they're bruises.

 

The thought fills him with a rush of emotion he can't quite define, and he leans in almost without thinking about it, his lips finding the junction between shoulder and throat, pressing a chaste kiss into skin slick with moisture. Steve groans. “Tony.”

 

“Sorry, sorry.” Tony pulls back, but Steve catches his arm with maybe more force than he intended and Tony slips, ending up armpit deep in the bathtub with his hands on some very interesting parts of Steve's anatomy.

 

“Hellooo, soldier,” he says, smirking. “What was that about no hanky panky in the bathroom?”

 

“What was it you said about my virtue?” Steve retorts, his own lips quirked up in a grin. “You planning to join me in here, or are you just fishing?”

 

“Well, I didn't like to suggest it,” Tony says, shifting his hand so that he can slide it experimentally up the hard line of Steve's cock. “But since you brought it up, it does get kind of hot and sweaty in that suit sometimes.”

 

“Uh huh.” Steve arches his hips, chasing the touch. Water splashes over the lip of the tub. “Why do I get the feeling that you planned this from the very beginning?”

 

“Because you're paranoid,” Tony says. “It's very unbecoming.”

 

“And yet, it's not unfounded.”

 

“Are you accusing me of plotting to seduce you? I'm wounded, Steve. _Shocked_.”

 

“I bet you are.”

 

For that, Tony lets go of his cock and splashes him, and Steve laughs as he goes under, whatever else he might have been going to say lost in a sputter of bubbles and hot water.

 

“You're going to get soaked,” he points out when he re-emerges, sounding breathless.

 

“Don't care,” Tony says. “Like I said, I was dirty anyway.”

 

Steve rolls his eyes, catching hold of his singlet and drawing him closer. Tony lets him, leaning into the kiss as far as he can, using Steve's shoulders for balance. Steve licks at his bottom lip and Tony opens his mouth obligingly, sliding one hand up Steve's shoulder to cup the back of his neck. Despite Steve's apparently playful mood, the kiss is more sentimental than teasing, and almost painfully earnest. They had both of them come way too close for comfort today.

 

“Hey,” Tony murmurs, when they break apart. He pushes Steve's wet hair out of his face, slicking it back so that he can look Steve in the eye. “Let me take care of you first, huh?”

 

Steve smiles with his eyes, and leans back. “Okay.”

 

“Huh. A super-soldier who does what he's told,” Tony teases. “You really must be tired.”

 

“Shut up,” Steve says. He is drowsy, though, and Tony watches with amusement as his eyelids flutter closed. He's not sure if it's the fact that Steve trusts him enough to let his guard down like this, or if it's just that he looks ridiculously adorable surrounded by bubbles with his hair sticking up, but the sight makes him feel inexplicably warm inside, just at the base of the ARC reactor. He grabs the soap and shuffles along so that he's sitting more towards the middle of the tub.

 

“Leg,” he says. Steve lifts his right leg and stretches it out – he's tall enough that he can rest it on the edge of the bath, so all Tony has to do is lean over and scrub him down. Perhaps fortunately, he lower half of his body is less dirty than the upper half; probably the leather boots had protected him from most of the mud. Still, Tony takes his time, watching the fine blond hair on Steve's calf smooth out and then spike up again depending on the direction of his strokes. He follows the line of Steve's thigh, up to his crotch and then back down to his foot, washing carefully between the toes and ignoring Steve's twitching attempts to disrupt his progress. When done, he pats the clean ankle briskly.

 

“Other leg.”

 

The same process is repeated once again, only this time, when Tony reaches his toes, Steve jerks a little and opens his eyes.

 

“I think I'm ticklish,” he starts, then gasps as Tony, instead of backing off, leans in and runs his tongue up the arch of Steve's foot, sucking the big toe completely into his mouth. Steve makes a strangled sound, water sloshing everywhere as he literally jolts upright, and Tony lets go immediately, his eyes wide. They stare at each other, Steve breathing hard.

 

“Got a bit of a foot fetish there, Cap?” Tony asks finally, a grin starting to pull at the corner of his mouth. He's never heard Steve make a sound quite like that before.

 

“No, I...” Steve looks like he's forcing himself to relax, his body slowly sinking back into the water even as a deep flush blossoms across both cheeks. “Okay, maybe that's...something we could try, later?”

 

“Okay,” Tony shrugs, catching the smile behind his teeth before it can fully escape. The last thing he wants is for Steve to think he's mocking him. “Want me to finish cleaning your foot?”

 

“No, that's...I think it's fine. But, uh, there are other parts of me that could use some attention.”

 

Tony snickers, and moves closer so he can kiss him, pushing him firmly back against the curve of the tub with both hands. Steve's eyes are closed again, lips parted, and Tony strokes his cheek before running his hand down to the waterline above Steve's navel, gently sluicing the bare torso free of any remaining grime. That done, he lets his hand dip lower, tracing the turgid flesh beneath with one finger as he contemplates how best to go about the next part of his task.

 

“I swear, Tony, if you don't stop messing around I'm going to drown you myself,” Steve warns him, his eyes still closed.

 

“Bossy,” Tony grumbles, laughing. He moves in so that he's angled above Steve and can get a better grip on his shaft, and is rewarded when Steve pushes up into his curved hand, making a little moaning sound at the back of his throat. “You like that, huh?”

 

“Ngh.”

 

“What about this?” Tony murmurs, bending down to kiss him again. Steve hums against his mouth, and Tony smiles, moving his hand along Steve's erect length in a slow pumping motion that soon has him gasping for breath. He's getting hard himself now, uncomfortably so in his already-damp pants, but it's a slow burn, nothing he can't wait to take care of later. For now he watches Steve's face as he tips his head back, the muscles in his neck straining as he tries not to move or make a sound, and kisses his way down the exposed throat, loving the feeling of Steve trembling beneath him, the clutch of Steve's hand in his hair.

 

“Jesus, _Tony_ ,” Steve stutters, his body jerking as Tony's mouth finds a nipple and sucks it experimentally. It's a little awkward from this angle, but Steve's response when he circles it with his tongue easily makes up for the crick in his neck, and he moves on to the other one, keeping the same slow rhythm with his hand as he does so. Steve cries out as his teeth scrape the sensitive flesh, pulling him inadvertently closer so that Tony has to use his other hand for balance. He's completely soaked now, his singlet plastered to his chest and his jeans chafing slightly against his thighs, but it's worth it for the languid spool of pleasure in his belly and the way Steve says his name again, his voice rough with desire.

 

He comes a few moments later, with a small sound and a full-body shudder, the tendons in his neck standing out and water slopping onto the floor like a cheesy movie-metaphor for ejaculation. They're going to have a lot of cleaning up to do later, Tony thinks, but it's hard to be concerned about it when Steve's smiling at him like that.

 

“All right,” he says, getting to his feet. He's almost as wet as Steve is. “Towels. And you should probably get out of there before you turn into a prune.”

 

“Super-soldiers never prune,” Steve says, deadpan. “Although we have been known to wrinkle a little.”

 

“Good to know.” Tony holds up a fluffy white bath-towel. “Come on out, then, before you look your actual age instead of the unfairly-perfect specimen of youth that you are. Are you coming to bed or do I have to drag you? Because I don't think I'm up to it tonight, fun as it sounds.”

 

“All right, all right, I'm getting out.”

 

 

+

 

 

Tony has always, quite unashamedly admitted to himself that one of the best parts about dating Steve Rogers is getting to see Captain America naked on a regular basis. Quite apart from the fact that he is an insanely attractive man, Steve is also a lean, mean fighting machine, and Tony wouldn't be half the engineer he knows he is if he didn't stop and appreciate the view from time to time. Tonight, though, the beauty is marred a little by the now-mottled bruises across his naked torso, and the stiffness Tony's trained eye detects in those strong muscles. He presses his palm gently over the largest bruise, a green-blue monstrosity that spreads over Steve's left hip and up his side.

 

“They'll be gone by morning,” Steve says, watching him. “You know that.”

 

“I know,” he admits. “I still don't like it.”

 

“Nobody likes it.” Steve pushes his hand gently away and secures the towel around his narrow waist. “But we're Avengers. It comes with the territory.”

 

“I know,” Tony says again. He wants to say more, but he isn't quite sure how to put it into words, the twist in his gut whenever he sees one of Steve's injuries up close. He grew up hearing stories about Captain America, the brave, invincible hero of the past; but whenever he sees Steve hurt, it reminds him that Captain America is as mortal as the rest of them, and that super-strength and super-senses is no guarantee of super-longevity.

 

“Hey,” Steve catches him by his belt loop and draws him closer. “Is it just me, or is one of us wearing way too many clothes for this situation?”

 

Effectively jolted out of his reverie, Tony laughs and kisses him.

 

“Somnophilia is not one of my kinks, Steve. Look at you, you can barely keep your eyes open.”

 

“I promise I won't fall asleep,” Steve says, widening his eyes with mock sincerity. “Scouts Honour.”

 

“I'll let you in on a secret, Cap,” Tony says, nuzzling the damp hollow of his neck and kissing his jawline with affection. “I was never a Boy Scout.”

 

“What a coincidence. Neither was I. But you seem to have their motto down pat, anyway.”

 

“What?”

 

“Be prepared.” Steve grins wickedly down at him and Tony groans in unexpected pleasure as Steve palms his erection through his jeans.

 

“That's dirty pool, Steve,” he protests, stumbling back a little. There's not really anywhere to go, however, and he finds himself pressed up against the bathroom counter, caught between a rock, and, well, a _hard place_ , as the saying goes, Steve's hands already working on the buckle at his belt.

 

“We don't have to,” Steve says, serious now, as he pulls the belt slowly through its loops and drops it to the floor. “I mean, I _am_ tired. But you know I don't like to leave a guy in the lurch like that, and it seems kind of unfair that I'm the only one naked in this scenario...”

 

“Okay, okay. Jesus.” Tony begins pulling his t-shirt over his head, the wet fabric clinging in unexpected ways. “Who would have thought Captain America would turn out to have such a voracious sexual appetite? You're supposed to be the poster boy for good, clean American living.”

 

“I'm a paragon of virtue.” Steve agrees solemnly, his eyes twinkling. “I also really want to throw you down on the bed and have my way with you. Can we do that now?”

 

“Fuck, yes.”

 

 

+

 

 

It doesn't really work out quite like that; they both make it as far as the bed, Tony stripping off his damp jeans and nearly tripping over his own feet when they get stuck on his socks, and they crawl beneath the clean sheets together laughing at their own clumsiness. Tony's erection flags a little, proof of his exhaustion and _not_ his advancing age, thank you very much, but revives again when Steve slides one of his large, warm hands down Tony's side to palm his ass under the covers.

 

“Get over here,” he murmurs, and Tony does as he's told, scooting over so that they're pressed together from torso to groin. Even Steve's super-libido can't survive the combined onslaught of a giant octopus _and_ Tony's legendary love-making skills in one night, apparently, because most of the action is on Tony's end, but Steve doesn't seem too bothered by it. Instead, he flips Tony over onto his back and starts kissing him, tiny, fluttering little kisses, down his neck and into the hollow of his clavicle, then further down past the arc reactor until Tony's squirming with it, his cock hot and heavy with need.

 

“Stee-eeve,” he whines, and okay, that sounds nowhere near as persuasive and sexy when he's half crazy with lust and half laughing at the tickling puff of breath against his thighs. “I hate you, you goddamn tease, stop that and just blow me already, I thought you said you were ti _red—oh_!”

 

Tony arches back, hands fisting in the sheets, as Steve's mouth finally finds his dick.

 

“ _JesusfuckingChristRogersyouareso--_ ”

 

“So what?” Steve asks, pulling back again. Tony can only make a garbled noise which is less of an answer than it is a why-are-you-stopping-you-asshole kind of question, or as close as he can get when all of his brains are in his cock. Steve laughs at him, and Tony finds enough motor control to flip him off before Steve finally, finally takes him in his mouth again, and then his brain entirely short-circuits.

 

It was never going to take long, the state he's in, but it's the feel of Steve smiling, ridiculously, around him that does it; he looks down and Steve is looking back at him, hair tousled and cheeks flushed, looking so thoroughly debauched and beautiful that Tony can't help himself – he's over the edge and gasping, his body going rigid as he rides it out.

 

“You're way too fucking good at that,” he says, when he can speak again. Steve has moved up to lie beside him, curled so that he can throw one arm across Tony's chest, and if it weren't for that weight pinning him down Tony's fairly sure he would be floating. “Are you sure you're not secretly a porn star?”

 

“Tony,” Steve says, the sternness of his voice belied by the fact that he keeps right on snuggling closer. “You're incorrigible.”

 

“Well, you did travel around with a bunch of big-breasted women and do tricks for money,” Tony points out, undeterred. He knows Steve is just going to ignore him anyway, which is probably the best possible approach one can take to Tony Stark's post-coitus ramblings. His brain is still semi-detached, and given the tide of exhaustion now sweeping over him, it's likely to remain that way for the foreseeable future.

 

True to form, Steve just smiles, and tucks his head in the crook of Tony's neck the way he always does.

 

“I love you,” he says, his voice already soft with sleep.

 

“I know.”

 

“Hey, I understood that reference.”

 

“Newborn _babies_ understand that reference,” Tony points out. “It's hardly an accomplishment.”

 

Steve wakes up enough to hit him with a pillow, and Tony grins to himself, satisfied. “I love you too,” he says, because he can, before succumbing to the pull of sleep.

 


End file.
